


Too Much of a Good Thing

by RockemSockem



Category: DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Bisexuality, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Magical Accidents, Major Character Injury, Personality Manipulation, Post-Crisis (DCU), Pre-Reboot, Repression, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-12-04 22:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockemSockem/pseuds/RockemSockem
Summary: In a mishap with the Teen Titans, Captain Cold gets hit by a spell which makes him realize what -- or who -- makes him happiest. And then the spell ends.





	1. Clap Along If You Feel That Happiness Is A Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely post-Rogue War but treating continuity with light gloves. Very light gloves. Just roll with it.
> 
> Also preemptive apology for the accent mangling in this, particularly Evan. I went for something closer to canon, which unfortunately is Not Great. I don't know what to tell you. I made an attempt.

Something had happened to Mick. Cold could tell. It wasn’t just that he’d returned to the Rogues; his personality felt like it had shifted. Like he’d lost something important.

Heat Wave had been reformed for years (except a bit in the middle where he’d fallen off the wagon) but he resurfaced again a few weeks ago when Trickster o.g. and his traitors tried taking them down. They’d failed, and now James and Mick had come crawling back to them with their tails between their legs.

Both of them seemed different, but Mick was changed in a way Len would never admit was goddamn unsettling.

He’d started asking Cold for permission before setting things on fire -- which was all good, as far as Cold was concerned; keeping the Rogues in line was difficult on the best of days, so he was fine with Heat Wave leaning into following his leadership. But it still didn’t feel right. Back in the old days they’d spurred each other on with rivalry and healthy, sarcastic competition. Now it felt more like Mick was straining at the leash, when he’d never been on a leash before.

With superheroes and the Top messing with people’s heads, it didn’t take a genius to figure out Mick had been one of them. The Top did something to him – he’d said he fixed him, but it seemed more like he _broke_ him instead. Cold knew it. Sometimes he felt Mick knew it too. The worst part was that Cold knew he’d been changed, knew that Mick wasn’t the same, wasn’t right, and yet Len intended to do fuck all about it.

If someone gave him access to that old treadmill of Flash’s and told him he could go back and make Mick right again he wouldn’t. Heat Wave was back with the Rogues, for the first time since they’d gone to hell and back again, and even before that it had been years since he’d run with them. But now he was a Rogue again, and Len wasn’t ever going to give him up. Not again. Heat Wave was back, he was under Len’s control, and the Rogues felt more like a family again.

Despite this, it still irked him.

Len polished his Stanley Cup as Trickster (the runt, James was off who knows somewhere), Weather Wizard and Heat Wave played poker. He watched them through the reflection on the silver, eyes on Mick as he down at his cards. It was surreal to see him back, while simultaneously feeling like it was the way things should be. Heat and cold, fire and ice. Heat Wave balanced him out in a way none of the other Rogues could.

A face in the reflection blocked out Mick, interrupting Len’s thoughts. “Haw, Cold, got somethin’ nice fer you.”

Cold blinked, frowning at Mirror Master. “McCulloch, where’ve you been?”

“Out. Got a wee bit of news, if you’re interested.”

“Spit it out.”

“Titans are in Keystone, lookin’ for somethin’. Don’t ken what, but Deathstroke says there’s a fair bit o’ cash in it for us tae distract them, even gonna include medical.”

“Why the hell were you talkin’ to – “ Len rubbed his temples. “Fine. But tell Deathstroke to get whatever or whoever’s drawin’ their attention to pack up and leave our town or we’ll have words. Got it?”

“Aye.” Mirror Master vanished, no doubt slipping off to a mirror elsewhere.

Len turned to see the rest of the Rogues watching him. “Get ready to go.”

\--

If there’s anything Axel Walker knew how to do, it was set off a big, distracting explosion. Then they just had to wait, hidden in a mirror. This is why Len put up with all of McCulloch’s bullshit: Mirror Master was far too useful to blacklist.

The Titans arrived quickly, landing in some sort of bat-jet that looked distinctly out of place in the sunny light of Keystone. They piled out, and Cold took their measure: Robin, Blue Beetle, Blue Devil’s kid – Kid Devil? Red Devil? Cold couldn’t remember, nor did he care. There was also Wonder Girl and some other girl. What was her name again? 

Didn’t matter. “Time to go.”

The Rogues left from the mirror from all sides, a perfect ambush. They had no intention of killing them – teenagers might not be children but it was borderline according to the Rogue Rules. Cold had already vetoed any lethal means.

He fired at Blue Beetle first, his cold gun smacking against that freaky blue armour before anyone could blink. In seconds, Kid Devil had rounded on him, breathing fire in his direction. But they’d all fought the Flash; Heat Wave had jumped between them and the fire hit his suit harmlessly. Cold trusted him to take care of it while he fired another shot at the blue one.

Weather Wizard was having a game of lightning with Wonder Girl and Mirror Master was gleefully taunting Robin. Trickster the younger was causing general chaos, rather than pick a target which was a bad plan: the last girl made a beeline for Cold, saying gibberish but casting a spell that turned the cold he was shooting out of his gun into forget-me-nots.

Blue Beetle huffed, aiming some sort of beam at himself to melt the ice freezing his armour. “Traci, be careful!”

“I’ve got your back, Blue.” 

Traci 13, that’s right, some sort of magic user. Cold pointed his gun not at her but at his feet, quickly creating an ice shield, before leaning around it and shooting at her feet.

Traci dodged quickly, if barely.

“Stay outta the way.” Cold’s growl wasn’t kidding around; he might not kill her but he has no intention of going easy on her either.

In response she just raised her eyebrows and said, “I don’t think he’s very nice.”

“Fuck off.” And Cold fired another shot.

The fight was quick and dirty and neither side had the advantage. It went on for a while – Neither Heat Wave or Kid Devil could seem to get the upper hand, Robin was too good to be caught by Mirror Master but evidentially found it difficult to catch a target that never fully stepped out of the mirrored glass of the skyscrapers around them. Weather Wizard had a lasso around his waist and only a non-intentional helpful bomb in Wonder Girl’s face got him out of it. 

Cold barked orders at Axel, getting Trickster to stop throwing things willy-nilly and help him with the two powerhouses.

Eventually it seemed Traci 13 had hit her limit, albeit oddly cheerfully.

“I think you’re just in a bad mood.” And before Cold knew what was happening she said, “This might be sappy, but let’s make you happy.”

The spell hit him like a cloud descending. He didn’t get what happened at first -- it took a few seconds for it to sink in. Then to the surprise of himself, the Rogues _and_ the Teen Titans, Len grinned broadly and started to laugh uproariously. 

Mark and Mick exchanged startled looks. But within seconds Cold was on his feet again, firing more blasts from his cold gun. It didn't seem to affect his fighting ability; in fact he seemed more renewed than ever. It was as if the spring was back in his step. He was _enjoying_ himself.

Robin was not. He turned on Traci. “What did you do?!” 

“Happiness spell,” she explained, ducking behind Blue Beetle who caught a cold blast on his shields. “He’s mean. I thought if he cheered up he’d be less... everything he chooses to be.“

Blue Beetle groaned. “Well, he’s not being _mean_ exactly – but –“

In the distance, something big exploded. The signal.

“Cold? Cold!” Evan snapped his fingers from a nearby reflection. “Cold, that’s our cue –“

Wonder Girl whipped her head around. “They were distracting us!”

Cold was still laughing as Evan grabbed him by the arm. “Oi! Everybody, we’re scarpering.”

The Rogues followed suit, retreating from the Titans and trying to drag a cheerful, laughing Cold into the mirror. None of them were pleased at this scenario, and were quite eager to get the hell out of there.

Traci held out a hand. “Hey! Wait!”

But it was too late, they were gone.

Robin brushed off his cape. “Dammit, okay team we have to go.”

“But –“

“ _Now_ , Traci.”

Traci jumped into the bat-jet with the others, looking back at the mirror. “They didn’t let me remove the spell.”  
 


	2. Your Love is Too High to Bring Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up to people who may be worried, no Mature Content happens while Len is under the influence of a spell, but it does get very close.

The Rogues didn't know what to do. Sure, everything had gone according to plan. Deathstroke and even sent the payment over and left town like he'd promised, which was an accomplishment in villain-villain relations. It meant that Cold’s situation didn’t hinder them chasing the guy up for cash. 

So all-in-all, everything was great! Except that Cold wouldn't stop smiling. It wasn’t like he was drunk, either. He was so sharp, questioning them about them leaving, talking to Deathstroke, making sure everybody was unharmed and ready to go for the next job. He just did it with a bounce in his step and the smile on his lips and a laugh on his tongue. 

It weirded them all out. 

James had held the fort it seemed while they were out, and his jaw practically dropped when Cold told him it was perfectly fine he missed the mission since it was a success anyway.

“Alright, which one of you gave Cold a sugar high?”

Len slung an arm over Mick’s shoulders, chuckling. “Me? I’m great.”

Mick frowned at him before sending a semi-pleading look at James. “One of the Titans cast a spell on him.”

Len shrugged, his arm still around Mick. “So? You heard it yourself, it was a happiness spell. What’s wrong with being a bit happy? Lemme enjoy it before it wears off.”

Mark stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. Evan grinned and elbowed Axel, tapping the side of his nose. The kid just squinted at him, slow.

James clapped his hands. “Great! So you don’t mind if I do some redecorating?”

“Whatever floats your boat, James. Sounds like a good idea, t’ be honest.” Len gave Mick a final pat on the back before he walked away whistling. 

Mick watched him go, frowning. Evan, meanwhile, looked like Christmas had come early.

“Here that lads? Daddy’s nae gonna be breathin’ down our necks.”

Evan very cheerfully walked into the nearest mirror while Axel finally took the hint and ran off, grabbing some stuff so he could cause trouble without getting Cold angry.

Mick, Mark, and James were left in an uneasy silence.

Mick crossed his arms. “Should we do something?”

“I’m not saying it’s not freaky, but I’m not about to rain on his parade.” Mark stretched his arms. “I’m going to go read.”

As he wandered off, Mick looked at James who grinned and patted his shoulder. “Relax, Mickey boy. If you’re so worried keep an eye on him. I got stuff to do.”

James left too, leaving Mick alone in the middle of the room. 

He stood there, opening and closing his hands trying to figure out why this was bothering him so much. He had to admit, he liked seeing a cheerful, happy Cold. It felt like the old days.

But it wasn't right. People messing with his brain. Hadn't people messed with all of their brains enough? Mick knew something was wrong with his own. He’d spent years battling his pyromania and the nostalgia of the good old days in an attempt to reform, and since he joined up with the Rogues that had all seemed like a dream. But more than that, he couldn’t even seem to get enjoyment out of _anything_ anymore. Anything but fire.

With the Rogues he had structure again. He didn’t have to think. He had people who would drag him out of bed when he just wanted to lay there with a box of matches and burn the time away. Someone had flipped a switch in his brain. Was it Top? Was Top just the latest one? Mick wasn’t sure. There were gaps in his memories. 

It was like having depression, but instead of blaming it on brain chemistry, he blamed it on other people messing with him. 

And with the few feelings he had left he knew he wasn’t going to let people mess with Cold.

They didn’t always get along. Sometimes they did. Sometimes they fought. But the man had welcomed him back without a thought. Rogues were family, and they were all Mick had left. He knew the others were a lot more suspicious of his sudden switch, but as long as Cold was vouching for him he didn’t hear a word. That meant a lot. Mick knew Len. He knew that this was wrong.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a match, and lit it, staring into the flame. Maybe the fire would burn away the thoughts, let him relax. But as it flickered out, the thought of someone messing with Len still bothered him. He lit another match. Then another. And another.

Then he went to go find Cold.

\--

Len was happier than he’d remembered himself being for a considerably long time. He knew that it was a spell. That didn't seem to matter as it appeared to affect his emotions not his brain. It was simply that the only emotion he could feel right now was happiness to the point where any other emotion felt deeply unsettling and uncomfortable. He wanted to avoid anything that felt remotely bad and bask in the good mood.

A part of him told him that if he didn’t like drugs, he shouldn’t like this. He didn’t care. He was happy.

Anything that didn’t make him happy he didn’t want to deal with. He had taken down the photo of Lisa from the wall and stuffed it into his drawer so he wouldn't have to look at it, so he wouldn't have to feel bad about what happened to her. No sad things. 

He stared around his room, thinking. He should take advantage of this mood. Maybe practice. Or he could make something.

When the knock on the door came, he’d decided to do both and had been using his cold gun to make ice statues of the Rogues. He liked the Rogues, for all they were a ragtag group of misfits and total assholes. 

“You can come in,” he said, admiring his work.

Heat Wave walked in, and for a moment Cold’s heart swelled. Without any negative emotion to downplay his reaction, he became keenly aware of just how _happy_ he was to see him.

Emotions he’d tried very hard to suppress.

Mick, on the other hand, looked much less happy to see him. Cold wasn't bothered. It probably wasn’t anything personal, the guy hadn't been smiling as much since he’d gottten back. Mick looked around at the statues.

“...What’re you doing?”

“Practicing.” 

“They’re... kind of nice.”

A few strides later, and Len had wrapped his arms around Mick in a hug. The man froze, stiffening in surprise. “Len, what?”

“I’m glad you’re back, Mick.” Len clung to him, letting himself enjoy the man’s presence. Then he let go, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

He’d missed him so much and now he was back. He had more feelings about the whole thing he knew. Knew they’d fought a lot. Knew that he’d once felt bitter about Mick trying to hunt them down. But though Len could remember feeling differently, all he was left with now was the positive. He clung to it.

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m under a spell.”

“But it’s _like_ you’re drunk.”

Len snorted. “When have I ever been a happy drunk?”

“Point.” Mick smiled. It was infectious.

Len had missed that smile too. It reminded him of back when the first Flash was running around, when their rivalry was in good spirits. When they’d been friends. It reminded him of running into Mick years later, when they were both reformed and convincing him to pull a job for old time’s sake. Even getting caught by Ice and Fire wasn’t so bad -- at least they’d gotten caught together.

After that they’d gone to hell and Mick had left again when they got back, but Len skipped over that. Happy thoughts. He could only have happy thoughts.

“Len, you’re staring.”

“Just glad you’re back.”

“Said that already.” Mick looked almost sad. “You... okay?”

Len pulled away, going to sit on his bed, staring up at the statues. “It ain’t gonna last forever, so I gotta say it now.”

Mick watched him, almost to the point of squinting at him. “D’you mean the spell or me staying here?”

Both those thoughts were sad, and Len didn’t want to feel sad right now. Instead he patted the side of his bed beside him. “Come sit with me.”

Mick blinked. “Why?”

Len patted the bed again. “C’mon.”

Mick approached cautiously, as if it were a trap. Len rolled his eyes. “Ain’t gonna bite unless you want me to.”

Mick stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“For hell’s sake Mick, what happened to hanging out?”

The man finally sat down on the bed, an odd expression on his face, along with a distinct redness in his cheeks and ears. “Did you even hear what you said? Something’s not right, Cold. You're acting strange. We should see if we can, uh, reverse the spell.”

“Why? I'm happy. I can't remember the last time I said those words. Have I _ever_? But it don’t matter. The family is back together again. And you're here. You're _here_.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

Cold leaned forward. “It’s not just that. All the shit I was dealin’ with doesn’t matter. Ain’t pissed at you, ain’t hating shit, all I got left is the truth.” 

A swallow. “Think maybe I should go.”

“Don’t.” Len’s hand was on Mick’s now. His heart rate felt like it was increasing at Flash speeds.

“Are you...?” Mick licked his lips. Then he closed his eyes. “Shit.” He pulled his hand away and stood up.

“Where’re you going?”

“You’re not in your right mind.”

“C’mon, Mick –“ Len stood up too, reaching for his hand.

He pulled away. “I gotta go. We gotta get you fixed.”

“It’s better this way.”

“Len, you’re acting like a lovestruck puppy. That really you?”

Cold stared at him before snorting. “No, but I ain’t complain’.”

He was pretty sure he would, normally. But today he didn't have the time or willingness to be anything but positive. Closeted. Repressed. In denial. Self-hating. That just made him unhappy and grouchy. He couldn't do that whole shebang today. He was incapable of doing that today. It was like the past ten years he had been lying to himself and doing so only hurt him. And without the ability to hurt himself, he could finally admit it.

He’d always been a little bit in love with Mick Rory.

It was an epiphany. But he wasn't upset by it. He couldn't be. Now he knew what he wanted. What he'd always wanted. He stepped forward, pulling down Mick’s cowl. Look at those hazel eyes, the colour only really being able to be appreciated when it’s uncovered by goggles. He was almost surprised Mick let him, and emboldened he lifted his chin with a finger.

“That such a bad thing?” Despite the whole happy-as-a-clam deal, his voice still cracked.

For a moment they stood like that, before Mick swore under his breath. “Cold, I'm not going to take advantage of you when you’re like this.”

“Why not?”

“Can you just –“ Mick pushed him away. “Just hold on.” He turned tail and left out the door.

The only reason why the rejection didn’t hurt was because Cold couldn’t be hurt.


	3. Slinking By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like random interludes with James Jesse because that's what you're gonna get.

An hour later Mick came back, practically dragging Evan with him. A bit of Mirror Master’s hair seemed scorched and his nose was bleeding.

Len looked at them with an amused expression and a grin. “Didja get into a fight?”

Evan gave Mick the stinkeye. “Said he’d set me on fire. Would too, bastard.”

Mick ignored him. “C’mon, Cold, we're going for a little trip.”

“I don’t need to go,” Cold said, though still oddly cheerfully, “I’m _fine_!”

Mick grabbed his arm and started pulling them all back towards the hall, where there was a floor-length mirror. “Do you really want this? Do you really want them to have fun with your mind?”

“I’m happy!”

“See? Toldja he weren’t gonna be on board.”

Cold tried pulling away. “Let me have this!”

That's when James, who had been hiding behind a nearby doorframe as per instructions, cheerfully hit him in the face with a pie. If one of the ingredients people put into pie was chloroform. Trickster grabbed him as he started to kneel over. “Alright, Captain, let’s go.”

It took Len a couple minutes to pass out, and he dimly remembered them carrying him somewhere.

\--

When Cold woke up, he was back on that rooftop, surrounded by other skyscrapers and their reflective glass. Evan was standing in the mirror. James’ hand was on Len’s shoulder, and opposite were three of the titans – Blue Beetle, Robin and Traci 13, and Heat Wave.

Mick was speaking to them quietly. Cold couldn’t catch it – he would be frustrated but he couldn’t feel frustrated right now. It was probably the best wake up he’d ever had, really. Emotionally, not objectively. Robin and Beetle came over to him, seeing he was awake, while Mick kept talking to Traci.

“Don’t make a move, Captain Cold.”

Cold grinned at the alien gun pointed at his face. “How’d they get you kids to come back?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Robin folded his arms. “All you need to know is that we have a truce right now and your friends didn’t bring your gun with you.”

Cold checked his side -- his holster was empty. “Huh. Well, I could still take you, runt.”

“It’s so creepy how happily he says that,” said Blue Beetle.

Robin shrugged. “Nowhere near as bad as the Joker.”

Finally, Mick and Traci were done talking. The girl came over, lifting her wand. “The spell’s run it’s course, so go back to being a sourpuss.”

James tsked. “That was a terrible rhyme.”

There was a burst of light and with a rush, Cold could finally feel all his emotions again. They all seemed to come crashing back, accentuating everything. Clearing his mind.   
Traci gestured to him. “I don’t actually need to rhyme, I just need to say _something_. See?”

Len growled and only James pulling him back and Blue Beetle’s gun in his face kept him from attacking Traci. “Who the hell d’you think you are?”

“See? Mean.” Traci and the other Titans backed up, ready for a possible fight.

At the same moment, Mick and James grabbed Cold, pulling him towards one of the reflective windowed doors on the roof behind them. Len stared at Mick. “What’d you do, what’d you trade them?”

“Let’s _go_ , Cold.”

And he found himself pushed into a mirror, watching Mick glance back at the retreating Titans before coming through himself.

\--

“What the hell is going on?”

Back at the hideout, Len paced, running his hands through his short hair in frustration. All the emotions that were blocked were fighting for dominance, and it was somehow even more difficult to stay clear-minded. 

James leaned against a wall. “We fixed you. Mick insisted. He’s very persuasive.”

“Fuckin’ almost set me on fire.” McCulloch grasped a few brittle, burnt strands.

“You already bitched about that.” Len turned back to Mick. “What’d you tell them?”

“That we knew who was behind it. Traded information for a truce.”

“You ratted out Deathstroke?”

Mick frowned. “He’s not a Rogue. He already got what he came for. Not like he made us sign an NDA.”

“Mick.”

“Y’know,” Mick wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Traci told me how the spell worked. Mightn’t have worn off on its own. Couldn’t leave you like that forever.”

Trickster decided to take a moment to interject. “I thought it was nice.”

“Shut the fuck up, James.” Cold rubbed his temple. He was remembering the last few hours, now that the shock had worn off. Now he was the one who couldn’t look at Mick.

“I told you he wouldn’t be happy either way.” James nudged Mick.

“Him not being happy was the point.” 

“Right. Fuck you too.” Honestly, Cold probably would have made the same choice. But it didn't stop him from turning around and marching down the hall to his room, slamming the door behind him. 

The first thing he did was put Lisa's photograph back on the wall. Then he looked around at the melting ice statues.

He smashed them all. It was rather cathartic.

\--  
James sat on the back of the couch frame, a slinky in his hands. Mark was trying to read _A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court_ , but James was determined to annoy him out of his concentration enough to get him to talk to him.

Shhhhk. Shkkkk. Shhhhk. Shkkkkk.

Mark snapped the book shut. “What?”

“Doesn’t it feel like our folks are fighting?”

Mark leaned back, groaning. “Ugh. Just leave them.”

James pulled the slinky apart. “You only groan because you know it’s true.”

“Go away.”

“They haven’t talked in two days.” Shhhk. Shkkkkkk. Shhhhk. “Makes a guy wonder what happened.”

“They had a fight. They always have a fight. Please for the love of god let me read my book.”

“Marky Mark _Mark_ , you need a new author.”

“Shut the hell up.”

James flopped down, lying on the back of the couch. “I wouldn’t care except it’s so _boring_. We haven’t had a job in days and I didn’t even get to go on that one.”

He reminded himself, for the thousandth time, he was here as a spy. His plan had failed, so the only other way to bring down the Rogues was from the inside. That didn’t stop everything he just said from being true.

Shhhk. Shkkkk. “I think Cold used up his happiness quota for the next million years.”

Mark tried to get back to his book. “Yeah, which is why you shouldn’t stick your nose in unless you want it falling off from frostbite.”

“Mick’s room got a distinct smoky smell coming from it, don’t you think?”

“Why are you talking to me if you’re not going to listen?”

James was tempted to drop the slinky on Mark’s face. “All I’m saying is either Len sulks his way into a hole or Mick burns this place down. Not super fond of either option! And Len’s not super fond of me.”

Mark sat up, finally putting his book aside. “You want me to talk to Cold.”

“While I talk to Mick! Exactly.”

“No.”

“Marrrrrrrrk.”

“No.”

“I’ll steal you a first edition Mark Twain.”

“...Alright.”

“Excellent!” James shoved the slinky into Mark’s hands. “Find out if he’s got a job for us –“ James’ feeble attempt at justifying this as Work, “And casually see if you can, y’know, poke at the Mick problem.”

“You’re going to get me killed you know,” Mark said, a faux world-weariness as he headed towards Cold’s room, not quite noticing he’d started to play with the slinky.

“Just be tactful!”

James thought the probability Mark could be tactful was nigh zero, but it was higher than his ability to speak to Len without having something thrown at his head. Len had let him back into the Rogues, but James suspected that he wouldn’t have if Mick hadn’t swapped over at the same time.

He whistled as he headed to Mick’s room, thinking. Heat Wave switching over to the Rogues was something he’d worried about, but it still had seemed rather sudden. He had been more afraid of Mick losing control and roasting them alive. And since then, Mick had seemed rather... lifeless. He didn’t like it.

He knocked on the door, worried despite himself. Mick was his second-favourite. He was wouldn’t be surprised if Mick was all of their second-favourites – the guy had a supernatural ability to never be anybody’s best friend but still somehow get along with everybody. Except Cold. 

“What.”

“Mick, I’m coming in, you decent?”

“Why?”

James opened the door. Mick was lying on the floor of his room, a box of matches on his chest and a small pile of burnt matches on the floor by his side. He was watching a flickering flame with a certain level of detatchedness.

“’Cause I’m worried, ol’ buddy ol’ pal.” James immediately sat down cross-legged on the floor beside Mick. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” James picked up a burnt match from the floor, rubbing it between his fingers until the charcoal dissolved. “Nope, not buying it. Okay look, I’m not the touchy feely feelings type. But you’re almost out of matches and it’s been two days. Two whole days, Mick. Do you know how tired I am of Mark Twain quotes?”

“Don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Mick. Len’s been polishing his Stanley Cup for two days and I _don’t_ mean that as a euphemism.”

Mick froze, tensing up immediately. He didn’t answer though, so James had to press him a little. “Gimme the juicy deets, Mick, I need ‘em. ‘Cause there’s no way you guys having been avoiding each other this long over the whole ‘breaking the spell’ thing.”

There was a crash from down the hall and a very loud voice saying, “OUT,” meaning Mark probably failed in his mission. He was going to be so pissed when he found out Trickster was absolutely intending to pretend to forget their deal entirely.

Mick finally sat up, looking away from Trickster. “He’s being an asshole.”

“And that’s different from him normally... how?”

Mick sighed, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “James, you don’t wanna hear it and I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You begged me to help you free him from his happiness curse,” James pointed out, “After an hour. You really couldn’t handle cheerful Cold for an hour?”

“It was bad for him.”

“It was hilarious.”

“Then why’d you agree to help me?”

“Why’d you want me to help you?”

Mick went to light another match but James quickly grabbed the box before he could. “Fine, don’t tell me. But whatever it is, you either got to talk to him or you got to leave.”

James hoped he’d leave. Hoped he’d get help. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Mick looked at the box of matches, before looking up and meeting his eyes and then promptly looking away. “James, you ever find out something by accident? Something big?”

“I changed my mind, do tell me.” Feelings were difficult but juicy gossip was forever.

“I’m not mad at him. But it was like he didn’t have filters, y’know? He let something slip, and now I dunno what to do about it.”

“Let _what_ slip –“

But before Mick could explain, the door slammed open. Mirror Master stood in the doorway, gesturing down the hall. “Havin’ tea parties now? Whatever. Deathstroke found out we sold him out.”

“Shit.” Mick immediately scrambled for his heat gun. 

James took to his feet. He needed to call the Bureau and also get his slinky back from Mark.


	4. Things Get Heated

Keystone was generally considered to be Rogue territory. While the Rogues weren’t the only costumed criminals operating there, there was a general understanding that outsiders weren’t appreciated. If you weren’t from the Twin Cities, take the next bus to Gotham.

Over the past couple of days, mercs of both the civilian and superpowered varieties had filtered into Keystone. From what the Rogues could gather, it seemed to be part of a bigger plan and more than just revenge – which means Deathstroke hadn’t technically held up his end of the bargain either. But payback for their loose lips was definitely on the table.

Fights broke out very quickly. The press started calling it the Second Rogue War, which they all agreed was dumb because the Rogues were all on the same side that time. In the middle of it all, the Flash was rounding up as many of the crooks as he could. This was generally to their advantage, though, since the Rogues were experts at dodging the Flash’s attempts to catch them and the mercs weren’t.

Despite all this they were outnumbered and soon it was becoming harder and harder to defend themselves as a group. During one such battle, chased by what seemed to be Tarantuala and a half-dozen bozos whose names Mick couldn’t remember, he found himself in an alley alone with Len. 

Cold quickly created an ice shield to block the entrance as they ran, darting in the back doorway to a Rogue-friendly restaurant nearby. Neither had said “live to fight another day” but they seemed to mutually agree that they needed to regroup. Except now they were separated from the group.

After a few minutes of not talking to each other, Mick peeked out the door.

“They’re gone.”

“Right.”

There was a pause as they stood there, panting in a kitchen, watched by the curious staff. Mick smiled at them rather than address Cold again. “Thanks!”

He pushed the door open and went back in the alleyway and Cold followed. Mick didn’t really get the look he was being given. “What?”

“Nothin’.” Len looked away, started down the alley.

“It’s always nothing.” Mick could feel the anger twist in his gut. Not like a roaring fire but a slow burn. “Not even gonna talk about it, huh?”

Len stopped, looking around the alley and up at the sky before hissing at him. “Not here, not now.”

“When, then?” Mick stood his ground, heat gun pointing at the ground.

Len turned to face him, face twisting. “What the hell is there to talk about? A spell messed with my head, wasn’t thinking straight, imagining things.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Wasn’t real.”

“Bullshit.”

Len looked at him through those goggles, and Mick knew he was thinking of the next lie. Mick wasn’t going to let him, though. “She explained the spell to me. Traci 13, like I told you. She said it doesn’t make shit up, it just blocks out other emotions. Don’t mean the emotions weren’t _real_.”

Cold took a step back, hand clenching. “She lied. She was messing with you too.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Mick’s could feel himself shaking, his heart racing. When was the last time his heart raced at anything but the sight of flames? But he could keep himself steady. He needed to know.

Len looked at him and tilted his head. “When’d you get your balls back?”

“Fuck off.”

“We’re not talking about this.” Len turned and started walking away from him. Heat Wave hesitated. But almost automatically he fell back in step, following Cold. It was like he was programmed to do so – or maybe he just didn’t know what else to do anymore.

The desire to give up, to let it drop, to fall back in line and let Cold call the shots and let everything go back to normal was overwhelming. 

He remembered Cold lifting his chin, so close. If he hadn’t pulled away, he was sure Len would have kissed him.

Whether or not he wanted him to was something Mick was still struggling to figure out.

The instinct won over his curiosity, and Mick followed silently. He compromised by telling himself he’d get Len to admit it eventually.

Then, maybe, he’d be able to admit something too.

\--

They didn’t get another moment alone for the next couple of days. Things were too hectic. It all turned out to be a trap to get Kid Flash to quit the Titans so that Ravager would leave or... something? None of them really cared what the fuck Deathstroke was trying to do. The important thing was to fight off a hoard of mercs with guns who weren’t any match for the Rogues.

Park benches from the square were overturned, a bus was on fire, Weather Wizard seemed to be creating a tornado, the Tricksters were running about mid-air dropping who knows what, Mirror Master was in every reflection, and Mick and Len ended up back to back, shooting hot and cold beams everywhere.

Suddenly, a bright red streak grabbed a merc before Mick’s heat blast could hit him, and threw him out of the way, before Flash turned up at normal speed to punch him out. 

“Not your fight, Flash,” Len growled, “Unless you’re here to help.”

Flash crossed his arms, flickering sometimes as he took out mercs at superspeed. “He doesn’t _sound_ happy. Take it the Titans were able to sort that stuff out?”

Len could feel Mick tensing up, and he glanced back just in time to see the nod. 

Flash ducked in a blur from the firing of a gun, and a loud snap and grunt told them the merc was taken care of, before Flash turned up by Len’s side again. “Cold, I need to bring you all in – _eventually_. Right now, kinda have my hands full. Don’t hit me until we take care of these guys?”

Len didn’t even look at him, concentrating on firing his next shot. “Don’t catch us ‘till we take care of these guys.”

“Just don’t kill any of them.”

“Fine.”

Flash sighed, taking out a merc before appearing by Mick again. “Wish you’d let me talk to him while he was still loopy.”

Then he was gone, leaving the two of them back to back taking out goons left and right.

“Mick.” Len’s voice was cold as ice. “Why the hell does the Flash know?”

Mick fires at the ground, creating a half circle of flames to keep the mooks from getting any closer. “Do I look like the kinda guy who knows the Titan’s phone number?”

“But you know the Flash’s.” Was Mick a spy? Was this all a trick from the Flash? Len didn’t like the sinking feeling that thought gave him.

But Mick just shook his head. “No. I know _Piper’s_. Piper didn’t have their number either, but said he could get Flash to meet up with me and arrange the whole thing.”

Len created an ice shield to stop a hail of incoming bullets. “Piper agreed to help?”

“He owed me a favor.”

“And the Flash?”

“I owe him a favor.”

Len paused, leaning around his own shield to shoot at a merc. On one hand, owing Flash meant one of his people was compromised. Next time Flash wanted info on what they’re up to, he could call Mick in. But if Len was the one who owed Flash, then he could control what favor they owed him. Plus... it irked him.

He wasn’t upset the spell ended. It messed him up, that much was clear. Despite all the bullshit with Deathstroke that resulted, he felt that Mick made the right call. He owed Mick, and it didn’t feel right for Mick to take the brunt of the whole thing.

“No,” he said, “ _I_ owe Flash a favor. Tell him that.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

There was a pause. They both got to the business of fighting. Len was very much aware of Mick at his back, of how right it felt to be fighting at his side. He reluctantly admitted it was nice that Mick seemed to have gotten some of his independence back out of this whole thing. So long as it wasn’t too independent; Len didn’t want him to leave again.

He tried not to think about that. That whole incident with the spell had opened the door and now Cold and no idea how to close it again. Len was decidedly straight and Mick Rory was not a woman. If Len wasn’t straight, how he and the others treated Piper would have made him the biggest hypocrite in the universe. Somehow that bothered him more than the idea of being gay.

Why did Mick have Piper’s number anyway? They weren’t a thing, were they? Len was a little bit more vicious with how he took out the next Merc, taking out his sudden burst of jealousy on the guy. This was ridiculous. He had to concentrate on the fight.

No. Mick was straight too. Wasn’t he? It didn’t matter. There was no point talking about it. Why the hell did he feel the need to call bullshit on Cold? They should just drop the issue. Pretend it never happened. He had rejected Len; it was over. What did he say again?

Len had been trying and failing to avoid thinking about that moment for days, and it was only now that he let himself do so that he noticed the word choice.

_Cold, I'm not going to take advantage of you when you’re like this._

Take advantage. The realization hit him like a brick. That’s not what you say when you don’t want someone hitting on you. That’s not what you say when you’re not interested. That’s what you say when you’re sober and the girl has had a few too many drinks and has her hands all over you and you want to go upstairs with her but you know it’s crossing a line.

Pain pierced his shoulder. He cried out, bending over. He didn’t even notice that he had froze in place and had stopped shooting his weapon. Dammit. This is why he clamped down hard in all his emotions. They were distractions. Now he was paying the price.

“Len? Len! _Len_!” Mick’s hands wrapped around him, holding him up. “Mirror Master!”

When Evan didn’t answer, Mick started shouting a different name. “Flash!”

Within seconds a bright red whirlwind was carrying Len away.


	5. Time to Face the Music

Len rolled over in bed, but a sharp pain in one shoulder and the jerk of plastic on his other wrist kept him from moving. His eyes flew open.

He was in a hospital bed, one arm in bandages and the other bound with a zip tie to the side. “Dammit.”

“Good morning to you too.”

Len looked up. Piper was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed reading a magazine. Of all people. Len groaned. Great. “Zip tie? Really?”

“Handcuffs are reflective,” said Piper, flipping a page.

Now that he mentioned it, Len looked around the room. There were no reflective surfaces in the place, and what surfaces would normally be reflective were covered very carefully by paper and plastic taped on. “You sure did this room a once over.”

“Flash did this all last night in a... well, you know. Can’t have McCulloch turn up.” The dislike in Piper’s voice when he said that name was palatable, which honestly Len couldn’t blame him for. What Evan did -- well, as useful as he was Len would probably let Piper get in at least one punch.

This didn’t translate to Len being at all happy about the situation. “I thought me’n Flash had a deal. Asshole went back on his word.”

“You got shot, in case you didn’t notice. He got you to a hospital, left the other Rogues alone. The hospital’s the one that insisted you be watched. So how about you don’t get all pissy about it.”

Len glared at him, pulling at the cord around his wrist. “Why’re you here anyway?”

“Cops got their hands full, so I took the next shift instead. Wouldn’t have done it if Flash hadn’t asked me to.”

“Lucky me.” Len flopped back down on the bed, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. “How’s the traitor life suiting you?”

Len could hear the sound of Piper closing the magazine and putting it down. Seconds later Piper was standing beside his bed glaring down at him. “Don’t give me that, Cold. I haven’t been a Rogue since -- since the first Flash died.”

Len deliberately looked away from him. “The others came back.”

“What, with the Top twisting around their minds? Hate to break it to you, Cold, it wasn’t loyalty that made them go back to you.”

Confirmation, in a way. Len didn’t like it but Piper wasn’t wrong. Trickster he wouldn’t have trusted much anyway, it was in the name. He accepted him back all the same. But Mick… Len was so afraid that whatever was done to him would wear off and he’d lose him again.

“So how’d _you_ avoid the Top’s topsy turvy bullshit?”

Piper looked distinctly uncomfortable. He pulled up his hood and looked away from the bed. The movement caught Len’s eyes and he watched with suspicion.

“I… I didn’t. The Flash just made sure it didn’t stick.”

Len stared at him, but was soon staring past him. Flash could fix it? There was a way to reverse it? “Why didn’t he do the same thing to Mick?”

Piper blinked, rubbing his chin. “I don’t know if the same thing would work for Mick. Flash might not be willing to take that risk.”

Len got the distinct impression that Piper wasn’t telling him something. “So Mick’s safe.”

“And James, not that you asked. You’re really bad at pretending you don’t play favorites.”

Shit. Piper was right. Dammit. He had to get better at hiding this. No, there was nothing to hide. Len was straight. Half his early days as a rogue were spent making complicated schemes in order to get women to fall in love with him. He still saw Angie weekly and enjoyed himself. It was the spell. It had to be the spell.

“We both know James’ll do what he wants. It ain’t gonna be something I can control.”

“What? Captain Cold admitting there’s something he can’t control? Gosh.” Piper’s sarcasm wasn’t something Len had missed. But it wasn’t long before the man got serious again. “Len… Mick’s sick. Are you really going to let him get worse just so you can have one more person on your roster? He’s saved your hide twice in the past week and you’ll just keep using him?”

That hit home hard. But Len wasn’t the kind of person to wallow in guilt when he could lash back instead. “Why’re _you_ so concerned? You in love with him or something?” He meant for it to sound ribbing, but it mostly came across as accusatory.

“Christ, Cold, no. Just... stop. I don’t have to put up with this anymore.”

Len didn’t respond and silence fell. He could hear the sound to the hospital outside the tiny room -- the beep of monitors, the sound of shuffling feet and squeaking wheels on tile. The smell of disinfectant was overwhelming. The pain in his shoulder wasn’t fun either. At least when he was arguing with Piper it was better than this.

If anybody found out what he might be feeling about Mick, Piper would never let him live it down. Again: biggest hypocrite in the universe. And, he had to admit, it was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Len wasn’t really the most progressive type but there came a limit where it seemed... tacky. 

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t really the best tone of voice one could issue an apology from, but Len hadn’t apologized for anything in so long that he wasn’t really sure how to do it anymore.

Piper simply looked confused. “What?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I ain’t gonna write you an apology letter. We’ve all been giving you crap and it’s getting old now. I’m done with it. I’m sorry. Not gonna say it again.”

Piper didn’t respond for a long time. Len had no idea what was going through his head and he mostly didn’t care. He had said his piece.

Finally Piper sighed. “I’m guessing that’s the best I’m ever going to get. This doesn’t make things okay. This doesn’t make any of that stuff okay. But I’ll take your apology anyway.”

“Fine.”

Piper went back to his magazine. Len stared at the ceiling, counting tiles until the thought of counting tiles made him want to stab his eyes out. 

It occurred to him that Len didn’t really know anybody else, as far as he was aware, who knew stuff outside of heterosexuality. At least, anyone he’d give the time of day, strained as their relationship was. Len didn’t know the next time he may be able to have a conversation with Piper so he might as well bite the bullet and ask.

“D’you think Mick’s gay?”

“I’ve rescinded my acceptance of your apology.”

“I’m serious.”

“Not that I would out anybody, but he seems perfectly happy with women. I don’t think he’s gay.” Len was still looking at ceiling tiles but he could hear the curiosity in Piper’s voice, no doubt more curious about the reason for the question then the answer.

Len cared about the answer. You’d think it would be a relief, right? He’s not gay. Mick’s not gay. Then everything would be fine. It was just the weird magic thing. No problems.

It wasn’t a relief.

Piper interrupted that train of thinking by continuing thoughtfully. “Who knows, he could be. Or he could still be bisexual, of course, but I’m not going to pry. It’s none of our business.”

Dammit. That was right, bisexuality was a thing. Doesn’t that make things more complicated? If it was just black and white, straight or gay then Len could just wipe his hands of the whole matter. That wasn’t how it worked, though, like it or not.

Len didn’t like how that thought made him feel hopeful. He didn’t need that. Feelings? Hey, feelings? Cut that shit out.

When Len didn’t respond, Piper finally asked the obvious. “Where is this coming from?”

“Nothing. Forget about it.”

“You can’t just ask something like that unless there’s a reason for it. I bet the reason is dumb, but I want to hear it anyway.”

“Fuck off.”

“Seriously, Len, first you apologize for -- oh my god.” Piper let out a breath, his whole attitude shifting rapidly from closed off to having a revelation. “Oh my god, _you_ want to know. You want to know if he’d be interested.”

Abort, abort, abort. “I’m not setting you two up.” 

“Oh no, you already did that trick once. This isn’t about me. This is about you. Oh my _god_ ,” Piper leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his sunglasses. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

“Shut the hell up. You’re wrong.”

Piper laughed weakly. “That was so _defensive_. I can’t even believe how big of a hypocrite you are.”

Len had called it; Piper would never let him live that down. “Shut up.”

“I think I was happier before I knew this.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“This still doesn’t make how you treated me okay, but…” Piper paused, folding his fingers together. His voice sounded like he wanted to say anything but what he said next. “But if you want to talk about it, I won’t tell anyone. You can talk to me.”

Len should’ve continued to deny and deny and deny but he couldn’t help but snort and say, “Wow, thanks for the enthusiasm. Forget about it, I ain’t gonna have a heart to heart with you.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Len closed his eyes for a moment before glancing over to the window -- it was curtained, of course, since they couldn’t risk the reflection. “Not gonna do shit.”

Piper blew out through his nose in frustration. He let the matter drop, at least for a little while. 

It wasn’t too long before he spoke up again. “If you _do_ do something about it, you’re going to feel real rotten if you leave Mick the way he is now. I know you, Len. You’re an asshole, and you’re not exactly a gentleman but you at least seem to understand that there are limits. We both know it’d feel at least a little bit like you’re taking advantage of him.”

Those words again. Taking advantage, though from the other angle. Now Len had that to think about too. This was why he can never stand Piper. Sonova was always right but always the buzzkill. Sometimes it felt like he was put there solely to harsh his vibes. Not that Cold was planning to actually try anything with Mick. Really.

“Why d’you care so much?”

Piper shrugged. “I’m not attracted to him, if that’s what you’re going to accuse me of again. But as far as Rogues go he was always my second favourite, and I don’t like my friends getting hurt.”

“Right. Well, like I said -- not gonna do shit.”

He realized now that there was literally no way to win this. Was it true? Mick was still a grown man, but if his head and been screwed with than what was real? But if he fixed Mick than the man would leave. He hated this. Feelings always made things more complicated than they were worth. He would just have to shut them all down and pretend they never happened at all.

“See if you can see a nurse about getting me some painkillers.”


	6. Micknapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just shameless introspection.

Len woke up to a hand on his mouth and the sound of a certain scot saying, “Shhh.”

He’d fallen asleep at some point after he took the painkillers and now it seems he’d been found. He opened his eyes it to the grim sight of Mirror Master’s face leaning over him. The hand was lifted off his mouth.

Len coughed, sitting up. “How’d you find me?”

Evan shrugged as he pulled out a knife and cut the zip cord. “Only room ‘round here that didnae have mirrors.”

Len pulled himself out of bed carefully, aware of his wound. There was a cop laying face down on the floor. He didn’t know if the cop was unconscious or dead and he’d never admit he was kind of glad Piper’s shift had ended a while go. Well, if it were the latter. If it were the former: fuck ‘im.

Very slowly and carefully they snuck out of the room. It had to be about four in the morning; it was dark in the hospital was mostly closed down. The officer outside the door was knocked out too. Evan led Cold into a nearby bathroom and one quick trip through a mirror and they were back at base.

The other Rogues were waiting for him, though Axel looked like he was about to fall asleep. James was uncharacteristically serious, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Mark was putting down his book, a frown on his face. And Mick -- Mick wasn’t there.

“We didn’t all get away,” said James before he could ask.

Len felt as if somebody had shoved a glacier down his throat and into his stomach. “What happened?”

Don’t say he was dead. Don’t.

Mark was the one who answered next. “Somehow they knew he was the one to rat Deathstroke out. We didn’t know what happened to you guys. First you were –“ he snapped his fingers, “And then I saw Deathstroke going after Heat Wave himself but -- ” and he shrugged.

“Forget him,” said Axel, “He’s not a real Rogue anyway. Good riddance.”

“He’s more of a Rogue than you are,” said James.

Len took a shaky step towards them. “Tricksters, shut up. Weather Wizard, what do we know?”

Evan answered instead. “He’s nae dead, Deathstroke woulda toldja. Braggart bastard.”

“We think they took him somewhere,” said Mark, “we didn’t find a body.”

Not a thought Len wanted to imagine. “Right. We need to find him, we need to get him back, and then we need to fuck Deathstroke up.”

“Hell yeah,” said Axel, immediately reversing on his position as he was far more excited by that prospect than his opinions on the whole rescue-Mick thing.

Len wobbled, and Mark noticed. “You gonna be able to handle this, Cold?”

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“You kidding? He’s totally fine,” said Axel, slapping him on the wounded shoulder to prove his point.

His point was decidedly not made when Cold proceeded to faint.

\--

James and Mark lead Len into bed, promising to find out where Mick was and insisting Len stay there. James insisted on very carefully tucking him in and offered to read him a bedtime story. Len threatened to punch him in the face with his good hand.

Soon they left him there, closing the door behind them. Mirror Master was leaning against the wall with Axel’s head in an arm lock.

“Aww, c’mon, how was I supposed to know?”

All of them ignored him. Mark flipped his wand between his fingers. “So what’re we thinking?”

“You search the skies, this guy searches the mirrors,” James shoved a thumb towards Evan, “Junior here can keep Cold from killing himself if he doesn’t help him along, and I’ll be looking my own ways.”

They discussed it for a bit before they split up. James put on his air shoes and stepped out a window, walking on air until he was sure he wasn’t around any reflective surfaces and Mark had flown away before he pulled out his phone (in a carefully matte case). He whistled as he went down his contacts. He still hadn’t deleted this particular one off his phone.  
“Piper? It’s James. Can you pass a message onto our dear flashy friend for me?”

– –

Len did not appreciate bed rest. Not normally and especially not now. Mirror Master had stolen him enough painkillers for a month, so Len was a little bit out of it. But there was a part of him that couldn’t stop thinking of all the things he would do to Deathstroke if he caught up to him. This whole shitty thing was his fault. And now he had Mick. Were they hurting him? Was he already gone? Would Len next wake up with a costumed corpse in his bed like the worst remake of the Godfather? He should be out there finding him, bringing him home, but Len could barely get himself a cup of water right now. 

This was messed up. He’d gone so long without Heat Wave on the team, he could continue without him. Heat Wave was never necessary.

But.

He felt so cold and closed off from everyone all the time -- and then there was Mick.

He remembered way back when Lisa and the first Flash were still alive. Heat Wave had gone to jail, not a rare occurrence. But that time it was different. That time when he left he didn’t come back to the Rogues. He didn’t even tell them he was quitting. He just... didn’t turn up. Len had overreacted. He told himself at the time that he was angry at Mick for breaking the code. And he was, since if people started reforming all over the place that was it for the Rogues, that would be the end of their lifestyle. But there was something about Mick that had felt personal, like it was a rejection of Cold in particular. So yeah, he had grabbed Lisa and they went and tried to put the fear of god in Mick. It didn’t work. He wasn’t sure if he regretted it or not. But since then he’d tried to be more persuasive to get Mick to come back.

When he finally did, it didn’t last very long. They all went to hell, and hell did a far better job of putting the fear of god into Mick than Len ever did. It really seemed like that would be the last time and Heat Wave would be gone for good. Len would have to go on without him.

But it never felt right to him. He needed Heat Wave to balance him out. Coming back from hell coincided with finding out Lisa had died in his absence, and Len knew he’d been getting colder and more closed off ever since. He put his emotions into a box and locked it up tight. And he tried not to miss Mick too.

Mick was everything Len was not. Len liked to give orders; Mick seemed content to either follow them or do his own thing. Len tried to control his emotions; Mick wore them on his sleeve. Len was prickly and grumpy and didn’t get along with people; Mick was friendly and kind and everyone’s second best friend.

Len didn’t know when he’d started to fall in love. It _felt_ new while at the same time it felt like he always had been falling in love with Mick. Without that damn spell, maybe he wouldn’t have admitted it at all. He resented it, but he refused to try to move on. He cherished every time they’d caught each other’s eyes and grinned, and every time they got into an argument it was like the stakes were higher.

Mick deserved so, so much better than him. But Len was selfish, and if there was any possible way Mick felt the same way Len would never let him go. But he was so afraid of finding out, because there was no way to keep that simple. No way to continue on with the status quo. That shit would get complicated real fast.

Was the risk worth it? He wanted him, and Len was used to getting what he wanted. But what if he didn’t?

Len didn’t know what happiness was. What he’d gotten a taste of? That wasn’t real. That was what was so frustrating. It’d all been fake in all the ways that he could appreciate, and it’d been real in all the ways that he couldn’t avoid.

He had told Piper the truth: he had no intention of doing anything. But now he was lying there with no way of doing anything even if he wanted to and it was the most frustrating feeling in the world.

He’d save Mick. He’d save him with his own two hands. He didn’t know when it was that he passed out again.

\--

Mick was having a bad day, but in the grand scheme of things he’d had worse. They’d tied him up and stuck him in an empty closet and turned off the lights. They’d taken his heat gun but not his suit so he was trying to get his hands free enough to see if he could reach into one of his pockets to grab some matches. He didn’t know if that would work, probably not -- but trying kept him busy.

The last thing he had done before getting caught was call for the Flash. Cold had gotten wounded, Mick remembered that. He didn’t think he could forget that, it felt like his heart had stopped. But then he was on his own just long enough for an orange gloved fist to clock him. He didn’t even see where it’d come from though he could guess pretty well who it belonged to.

He’d been questioned, and had mostly complied. Mick knew he was a bad liar so he didn’t. But sometimes he would, you know, not tell Deathstroke _everything_. Score one for getting out of this with as few bruises as possible.

On top of that, he listened to the man monologue for far too long. What was with these guys? The ones you always seem to have seven agendas going on at once -- whatever happened to the good old days, lighting fires, knocking over jewelry stores and fighting the Flash? Clean and simple, not like these weirdos.

The whole thing was humiliating. He knew why he had been singled out, that was made very clear with a knife against his cheek and a growl in his ear about “honor among thieves” and “backstabbing”. Honestly? If he was given the choice to do it all over again he would’ve. Not exactly the same. He would’ve been more subtle about it; Len could’ve sat tight for the extra time to make sure his deal with the Titans with a bit more under wraps. But he would’ve done it the basic gist again.

Mick didn’t hate superheroes, not really. For a while he’d tried to become one, sort of, working for Cadmus Labs. Sometimes he missed Metropolis. The Twin Cities were home, but like a lot of homes, Mick had left for a reason. It was a lot easier avoiding the temptation to go back to being a Rogue outside of Central and Keystone.

Being a Rogue was simpler. His disease became a gimmick, his gimmick gave him value, and that value was cashed in by the Rogues. Mick didn’t have to worry about trying to get a job despite being an ex-con, he didn’t have to keep trying to help despite the superheroes constantly treating him with suspicion, he didn’t have to worry about whether or not someone would actually rent an arsonist a place to live. Mick didn’t have to try to do anything anymore. He just had to burn things, and wait for Cold’s next decision.

But that was part of the reason he wouldn’t change his decision to rat out Deathstroke -- he did it for Cold, but that wasn’t the whole thing.

It was the first time in a long time that he called the shots based on his own decision making. It was the first time in a long time that something other than the flicker of flames made him feel alive. Without Cold telling him what to do, he’d done something himself. And that was worth defending.

But it had been so easy to slip back into feeling like nothing again. Mick wasn’t even that upset at the situation he now found himself in which wasn’t exactly a cakewalk. What was wrong with him?

But that reversion was in the only thing bothering him. There was also the Len problem.

He’d called bullshit on Len avoiding talking about it, but hadn’t exactly stopped avoiding talking about it himself since then. He kept thinking about it, though. Was he right? Was there something there?

Every time he had run into Len in the years since he’d first reformed the man had tried to get him to go back to his old ways. His persistence made Mick feel like he had a clingy ex but without the actual relationship to justify it. It drove him up the wall.

But... in a fucked up way, it was kind of nice to be wanted. The others could take him or leave him. Mick didn’t have any real enemies among the rogues but there wasn’t anybody he felt very close to -- except Len. Sometimes rival, sometimes friend, it felt like they were constantly revolving around each other.

If Len hated him, why did he keep trying to get Mick to come back? But if he felt the opposite, why was he always such an asshole? Mick remembered the feel of Len’s hand on his own, the look he had given him as he raised his chin. Mick remembered how dry his own mouth had become, how his stomach had flipped, and his cheeks flushed. 

He was pretty sure he was right when he felt that Len was very much on board with the Mick train. Mick just didn’t know what to do about it, not helped by the fact that right now he didn’t want to do anything at all except light some stuff on fire. Or more immediately, get out of this closet. The literal one, not the metaphorical one.

If he dropped the subject and never brought it up again, Mick was certain that Len would never bring it up. Not doing anything was a perfectly viable solution to this problem, but it wasn’t a very satisfying one.

How did he want this to end?

He remembered how close Len was, how if he had just waited they might’ve kissed. And they might’ve gone further. And Mick had to admit he kind of really wanted to. Had thought about it before. Had wished sometimes that Len would stop tugging his pigtails and just press him up against a wall.

He didn’t know it was actually an option until it was. But it wouldn’t have been _right_ Leaving Len in that room and going to fix him was the correct decision. Mick didn’t regret that.

Maybe he was just lonely and looking for someone, anyone to love him. But replaying that scene in his mind with anyone else made his brain stop with a record scratch. But he’d wanted to if it was Len. 

Nothing would happen if Len didn’t say anything. Len wouldn’t say anything if Mick didn’t. When Mick tried, Len shut him down. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a way to resolve this.

One thing was for sure, though, he couldn’t resolve anything in a cupboard. He’d have to escape and –

The door opened.


	7. Out of the Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought this fic was abandoned, but it was really me, Dio!

Mick was in a closet, tied up, and not expecting to see a teenaged girl with the whitest blond hair he had ever seen, an eyepatch, swords strapped to her back and his heat gun in her hands. Her costume was the spitting image of Deathstroke’s, though, and that’s how he finally managed to place her.

“Ain’t you Deathstroke’s daughter?”

With one hand she drew a sword and before Mick can even wonder if he is going to die she sliced through his bonds perfectly. And before he can even thank her she had her sword pointed at his nose.

“Shut up. If you want to get out of here, do what I say.”

Mick held up his recently freed hands. “Alright.”

There was a pause as she stared at him and he stared back.

Finally she squinted at him. “I was expecting more pushback, but okay. You’re taking me hostage.”

“Wait, what? Why are you here? I thought this was all about you or Kid Flash or something? Why d’you want me to take you hostage?”

She resheathed her sword with a grumble, before pulling out his own gun. His own gun! His precious heat gun. Drawing his own gun on him was a low blow.

Ravager frowned at him. “Have you been paying attention at all?”

“No?”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You take me hostage, we both get out of here. Got it?”

Mick couldn’t bring himself to care that much about whatever was going on so he just shrugged. “Sure.”

She set his bonds on fire, before she shoved the gun in his hand, grabbed his other hand and wrapped it around her so her arms looked pinned. “Now point the gun at my head and let’s go. Straight, left, right, left, straight.”

“You know this is dumb, right?”

“Move!”

“Okay, jeeze.” 

Mick dutifully pressed the tip of his heat gun to her temple and pulled her out of the closet. She immediately begun swearing and yelling at him to let her go, playing the role of a hostage in the most angry way he’d ever seen. He was kind of impressed.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t struggle or your head’ll go up in flames. Straight down this hall you said?”

\--

Cold woke up to the sound of the other Rogues talking to each other outside his bedroom door.

He could make out what they are saying but he pulled himself out of bed, being very careful with his wounded shoulder. He picked up his cold gun from his bedside table. He shuffled along as the voices increased in argumentative tempo.

“ – tell him.”

“He’s wounded!” Then something Cold couldn’t catch. “We got to go _now_.”

Cold opened the door to Mark, and James, and Axel. They all looked at him, startled.

“I’m awake. What’s going on?”

Mark crossed his arms. “Mirror Master found where Deathstroke is holed up. He can bring us there.”

“And save Heat Wave. Let’s go.”

“While you’re hopped up on painkillers?” asked James wryly.

Len glared at him. “I’m going.”

The others exchanged a glance as James opened his big mouth again. “I know you want to be a knight in shining armour but you’re kinda –“ James wobbled his hand. “Little bit of a liability, Cap’n.”

Len grabbed James by the collar of his cape and pulled him towards him. He meant to lift him off the ground but even using his good arm he didn’t really have the strength to do it. Not that Trickster knew that. “You’re not the boss ‘round here, Trickster. That’s me. I’m going.”

“Sure, whatever you say, just don’t come crying to me when you faint again.” But James was giving him an appraising look.

Cold let him go and James pulled away, readjusting his cape’s collar. Len glared at the other rogues, but none of them raised a word against him. “Where’s McCulloch?”

“Oi.” A voice came from the hallway mirror, where Evan waved from. “You lot comin’ or nae?”

\--

Mick was used to heat. Heat didn’t make him sweat. Being surrounded by about twenty mercs, bunch of them costumed, with a furious Deathstroke.

He’d successfully navigated the place and was now in the lobby, where the glass was completely shattered, letting the sunshine light up the scene. The building they were all in seemed like an empty, abandoned office building. There was damage to the walls, probably from one crisis or another that Flash never got around to fixing. Weird hideout, but okay.

As he’d worked his way through the halls -- straight, left, right, left, straight – more and more mercenaries had come to see what the commotion was and each time he’d threatened to set Deathstroke’s daughter on fire and the girl had screamed.

Now he was almost out, but Deathstroke was there between him and freedom. 

“Lemme go now, or your daughter’s a bonfire.”

The teenage girl is very good at pretending to have none of it. “I’ll kill you! I’ll rip your eyes out!”

Deathstroke levels a sword at Mick. “Kill my daughter and the only place you’re going is hell.”

Mick let out a bark of laughter. “Been there, done that. Woulda sent you a postcard. I’ve already died once, Deathstroke. Seeing this beauty go up in flames ain’t the worst send-off.”

One of the mercenaries – hey was it Tarantula again? Looked like her. She spoke up. “I thought the Rogues didn’t kill kids.”

Mick glared at her. “She ain’t a kid.”

“Enough of this! Father! Let me kill him, I want to kill him.” 

They both watched as Deathstroke stared at them through his mask. Behind him, through the window, Mick could see a bat-shaped silhouette. In his arms, Ravager made a “hnng” sound. But she wasn’t looking at the sky. She was looking at the ground. Mick followed her gaze.

The glass on the ground was reflective, and a familiar group of faces were staring up at him.

This was going to get out of control very quickly.

Deathstroke saw him look, and immediately jumped to break the already broken glass with his sword, but his sword hits cold metal. Cold’s metal gun, his arm sticking out of the glass. Mick’s heart leapt.

“Not today, Deathstroke.” 

The Rogues jumped out of the glass to start fighting the mercenaries. Cold surrounded Mick and Ravager with a wall of ice, just as Mick could hear another shout –

“TITANS TOGETHER!”


End file.
